


Hope Is a Four-Letter Word

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink Card 2 [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Poly, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Elven Wine, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Service Submission, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Húrin spends a rather important evening with Fingon and Maedhros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Is a Four-Letter Word

**Author's Note:**

> This fulfils my 'threesomes' square on my second Season of Kink card.

Maedhros was listening with his whole body to what the messenger was saying; he was completely still, head bowed, hand casually on the hilt of his sword. Beside him, King Fingon listened too, a laugh half-frozen on his lips, hand caught in the middle of a gesture. Húrin wanted very much to know what had captured their attention so, and hurried his footsteps across the wide courtyard. 

He had nearly reached them when the messenger ended and Maedhros lifted up his head, a light dawning in his eyes, a fierce overwhelming joy that nearly blinded Húrin with the passion in it. 

"So it is possible!" Maedhros exclaimed, and his voice too was fierce and bright. 

"It is but _rumour_ , Nelyo," Fingon said. "But if it is true - if Thingol's daughter and this Man - Beren son of Barahir did you say? - then we should consider what we must do to regain the other two." He turned to Húrin, who was now standing beside Maedhros. "Rumours tell of the capture of a Silmaril!" His voice was eager, and Maedhros smiled to hear it. "You live in a time of great deeds, Húrin." 

"A Silmaril, captured from the Iron Crown?" Húrin said in amazement, thinking that Fingon surely must be joking - but for the look on Maedhros' face. His eyes were blazing fiercely, brighter than Húrin had ever seen the _lachenn_ of the Noldor glow, and he was smiling a grim and fell smile that promised woe to all of his enemies. Húrin finally understood the legends that spoke of Maedhros as being 'like one who returns from the dead', burning with an inner flame that capture, torment, despair, and maiming could not quench. 

Fingon reached out and laid his hand on Húrin's shoulder in a confiding manner. "I do believe the rumours speak true." He took a deep breath, but the grin stayed on his face. "Tonight after supper, come to us in my private rooms, and in secret there we'll discuss what we can do. For this is not a matter for the throne room, or even the open courtyard, as yet." 

\-----

Húrin barely remembered the tastes of the evening meal. Beautiful and well-prepared though all Elvish food tended to be, he was used to it by now. He only noticed the subtle delicate flavours of piquant spices traded from a faraway eastern region of Middle-earth woven all through the slow-roasted lamb, wild rice, and spring vegetables because he wondered if it was Maedhros who had traded for these particular spices, and brought them as a gift to the High King. 

After supper, he was caught by one of his men wishing to discuss arrangements for a visit home in a few days' time, so by the time he arrived at Fingon's private suite, he and Maedhros had already been closeted together for some time. Carefully, Húrin knocked on the door. 

"Come in," Fingon called out after a moment's hesitation, and Húrin entered the room, glancing around. "Lock the door." 

Húrin did so, and turned back to face Fingon. Maedhros was sitting on the floor at Fingon's feet, the stump of his arm curled around Fingon's leg, his long braid loose and Fingon's hand in his hair. In his other hand, Fingon was holding a half-empty glass of red wine, and by Maedhros' side, a nearly-empty one sat on the floor. Húrin hesitated; the scene looked so utterly domestic that for a moment he wasn't sure he was welcome, but Fingon smiled at him swiftly. "Come, sit,' he said, gesturing to a comfortable-looking chair across from where he sat on a low couch. A glass of wine already rested on the table by the chair. 

Making his way over to the chair, Húrin sat down. It was indeed a comfortable chair, of the type that seemed to suck a person in and make it difficult to get back out again. He looked across at Fingon, unsure. 

"Do have a drink," Fingon said, lifting his glass and taking his own advice. "The wine is _excellent_." He ruffled Maedhros' hair slightly, and Maedhros smiled up at him with such a besotted look on his face that Húrin abruptly realised that he was already more than a little drunk. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, cousin, your brother's grapes are the very best." 

Maedhros waved his hand. "Oh, it's not Caranthir's doing; it's what's-her-face, you know, the vintner who was so famous in Valinor that Maglor wrote songs in praise of her. She followed Caranthir out here and settled down near Lake Helevorn, but her work has sadly been disturbed of late due to that foul Glaurung, and there's not much of this -" he gestured to his own glass, "-left for us." 

"Yet another reason to drive the Enemy from Beleriand, then," Fingon said, eyes dancing with merriment. "Recapture the Silmarils, ensure the ongoing production of good wine...." He shrugged. "Not sure which is more important, to my mind." He raised his glass to his mouth and drained it, as Húrin took a drink himself. The wine was indeed excellent. 

Maedhros laughed. "Shall we to planning, then?" he said, but was interrupted by Fingon's laughter and a mock toast. 

"To planning!" Fingon exclaimed, holding up his glass, but then frowned at it. "Oh, dear, it appears to be empty." 

Húrin set his own glass down and prepared to get up to refill the king's cup, but Maedhros was quicker and rose to his feet remarkably fluidly for someone who had clearly already had at least three glasses. "Stay still," he said to Húrin. "When the day comes that I cannot refill my king's glass, then you may serve him so, but while I am here, it is both my duty and my pleasure to see to his every need." 

Even while speaking, he had taken Fingon's glass from his hand and was making his way, only slightly weaving as he walked, over to the sideboard, where an unopened bottle of wine sat waiting. Húrin's eyes drifted back to Fingon, who had sunk back into the couch lazily, and was gazing at Maedhros across the room with such an obvious mixture of fondness and lust that Húrin felt suddenly hot, and cast his eyes downward. 

"Now then," Maedhros said, returning and handing Fingon his glass - Fingon tugged him down to sit next to him rather than have him return to sitting on the floor - "my thought is this: if indeed Lúthien of Doriath and this Man, Beren son of Barahir, have captured a Silmaril, then that is the best news we could have in these days. Our Enemy is not unassailable. Victory is within our grasp, if we are ready to throw all we have behind it, and land such a blow to Morgoth's forces that we take Angband itself." He turned to Fingon. "I know your desire to have vengeance for your father matches my own, and if we succeed, we shall take Morgoth on together - no single combat, no rushing ahead reckless of life or limb, but a planned, coordinated, and complete victory." 

"We shall need every bit of force we can muster," Fingon said, turning to Húrin. "Eldar, Edain, and Naugrim alike, we must all be in this together, or our lands will assuredly fall one by one to the Enemy. Will you lead all you can muster of the Edain with us, Húrin son of Galdor?" His voice took on a slightly more formal tone as he asked the question.

Húrin did not need to hesitate. "Gladly and with a good will," he said, as formal as the king. "For our aims are the same, and this plan strikes me as the only one likely to be successful. We must throw all our strength at our Black Foe in one strong blow, and hope that our hand is powerful and our aim true." He took a swallow of the wine, feeling it beginning to warm him, a languorous pleasure seeping through his veins. "I await the day when we stand together on the battlefield and make our land safe for my children."

"Tell us of them," Fingon said, "that we may know whose happiness depends on our victory." His free hand was on Maedhros' knee, and at some point Maedhros had slipped his arm around Fingon's waist. They were leaning on each other, the dark head and the red one so close together their hair was mingling. Húrin felt almost like an intruder, seeing how clearly they loved each other. 

"My eldest, Túrin," he said, "is his mother's son: dark and serious-minded, but full of compassion and kindness." He smiled a little at the memory of holding him soon after he was born, walking up and down the corridors of his house to help him get to sleep. "And my daughter - she is but a few months old, but full of smiles and laughter even so young. She is golden-haired like me, and we call her Lalaith, for she brings laughter to our house, and hope to our door."

Fingon nodded solemnly, raising his glass up. "To Túrin and Lalaith! To the children of Beleriand, those of the Eldar, Edain, and Naugrim! For you we fight!" 

All three of them took a long drink at that. Both Fingon's and Maedhros' glasses were empty again, and Maedhros set his own glass aside on the table beside the couch, then reached for Fingon's and put his down too. Fingon nuzzled warmly against him in thanks, lips brushing his throat, and Húrin wondered for a moment just how much they had both drunk, to forget themselves in the presence of a third party so. 

Their relationship was the very definition of an open secret: never admitted to in public but to anyone who had seen them together for more than a few minutes, completely obvious. Maedhros could be relatively reserved and didn't give much away, but Fingon's eyes had a habit of wandering to Maedhros whenever they were in the same space together, and not even several years of being the High King had been able to break it. Gossip gave them out as having been lovers since youth, and although some frowned and said that it might as well be the Feanorian who ruled over them, the way things were, anyone who had spent any great length of time in a court when both were present knew that Maedhros gladly and graciously allowed himself to be ruled by Fingon, rather than the other way around. 

Húrin could not resist watching them for a moment. Maedhros had turned back again toward Fingon, like a flower toward the sun, and the look on his face was very tender as his other arm wrapped around his cousin and king. He bent his head and kissed Fingon's hair softly. For a moment there was silence in the room.

"I should go," Húrin said after a moment, breaking the quiet, feeling as if he was speaking quite loudly even though of course he was not. Maedhros raised his head, and Fingon turned back toward him with a smile. Húrin stood, feeling a little unsteady on his feet but determined to be proper and decorous despite the Elven wine, and leave rather than throw himself down beside Fingon and run his fingers through that wealth of dark hair. 

Fingon caught his wrist. "Do not feel you must," he said. Then, carefully, "unless your lady wife would object to what I would like to do with you tonight." 

Húrin's mouth went dry despite the wine. "What would you like to do?" He breathed the words out, barely able to articulate them, so filled with a sudden hope combined with lust that he was dizzy with it. Beside Fingon, Maedhros smiled up at Húrin, and lifted his hand to his own face, brushing back fiery hair with his fingers, wrist turned toward Húrin in a deliberately seductive movement. 

Fingon gazed up at Húrin and slowly licked his lips before he answered. "I'd like to take you both to my bed, and there see what pleasure we can find in each other while the night lasts." His face and voice were both calm, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that betrayed his excitement. "Would the lady Morwen object to that, do you think?" 

Húrin shook his head; they had discussed these possibilities before they were ever married. "No, she would not," he said. "We have each other's permission to take other lovers if we wish. I know that she loves one of my kinswomen, Aerin, more dearly than a friend and oft they have been together, before and after our marriage. However until now I have taken no other lover myself." His breath was coming faster; he shook his head to clear it, dazzled by the light in Fingon's eyes. "I will gladly come to your bed if such is your desire." 

Fingon smiled, stood up, still holding Húrin's hand, now somewhat taller than him, and bent to kiss him. Húrin's eyes fluttered shut against his will and his free arm came up around Fingon's slender waist. Their lips met. The kiss was slow and careful, as though they had all the time in the world. Fingon's mouth tasted of wine and spices; Húrin thought that kissing him was making him more drunk than actually drinking the wine had done. All of his senses narrowed down to Fingon's mouth against his own, the warmth of his body standing so close, and the steady heartbeat of the Elf, beating in the same rhythm as his own. 

When Húrin opened his eyes, Maedhros was standing beside Fingon, smiling down at them, the look on his face so fond and indulgent that Húrin no longer felt like a third wheel. He held out his hand, and Húrin removed his arm from around Fingon's waist (Fingon kept hold of his other hand) and let his hand be taken into Maedhros' larger one. 

\-----

Fingon's bed was easily large enough for three, even if they had all been Maedhros' height, and Maedhros was the tallest Elf Húrin had ever seen. Even Fingon stood several inches above his own height, but Húrin had grown accustomed to lovers taller than him - his own wife was taller than he was, after all - and figured the differences between them would be overcome easily enough once they were all lying down. 

Maedhros seemed to take it as his own particular duty to get everyone's clothes off, and once they were in the bedroom, knelt gracefully before Húrin and untied the lacings of his breeches with his teeth, leaving Húrin stunned and breathless with desire at the feel of Maedhros' warm breath against his cock. Then he rose just as gracefully, winked at Húrin, and made his way over to Fingon, shedding some of his own garments along the way. 

Fingon turned with a smile as Maedhros helped him out of the formal robes of state he was wearing. "Do you remember that time with Ingoldo?" he said to Maedhros in a low voice, but not so low that Húrin could not hear. 

Maedhros smiled at the memory. "The first time? In the meadow with those little blue flowers? That was a pleasant evening." He laid Fingon's robes down on a nearby chair. 

Fingon turned, naked, and Húrin could see that he was already half-hard, much like himself. Maedhros was the only one with any amount of clothing left on, by this point, and they both began divesting him of his garments, as he laughed and surrendered to their hands. "Shall we try that again, then?" Fingon said to Maedhros, and then looked over at Húrin. "I'd like very much to have you, and my beloved here - " he reached up and stroked Maedhros' cheek tenderly, "- would like for you to have him, if you will." 

What man, mortal or not, could resist? "I will," Húrin replied eagerly. 

"Come here, I simply must kiss you again," Fingon said with a laugh, and reached out for him, pulling him close and stroking a hand down his face, over the golden hairs of his beard. "Mmm, very pleasant to touch," he remarked, and pressed his mouth to Húrin's, giving him quick teasing kisses with just a hint of tongue. Behind him, Maedhros' hand was exploring his back. The light fingers running down his spine made him shiver and groan into Fingon's mouth. "To the bed, then." 

Somehow in the midst of removing clothing, the bedcovers had been turned back. Maedhros was the first to get in, and beckoned to Húrin with a smile and a look so seductive, long limbs stretching out luxuriously, that Húrin wondered how anyone could possibly resist doing exactly as he asked at all times, even as he slid onto the bed and into Maedhros' arms. 

Maedhros had not kissed him before, but did so now, passionately, with his whole body. It was like being consumed by him, wrapped up in long arms and legs, Húrin's head tilted up, and Maedhros' mouth slotted firmly against his, tasting and teasing him with kiss after kiss. Húrin was drowning in the feel of it, unconsciously moving his hips and pressing his cock against Maedhros' stomach, their legs tangled together. 

He felt Fingon move onto the bed behind him and drop a kiss to his shoulder. Reluctantly, he drew back from Maedhros a little. "How shall we do this?" he said, unsure of the practicalities of threesomes. 

Fingon smiled against his skin. "There are a few different ways, but I would suggest that you take him whilst he lies on his back, and I kneel behind you and take you at the same time." 

Húrin pictured it, and felt the heat in his blood ratchet up another notch. "Yes," he breathed, and looked over at Maedhros. "Elbereth, I may not last so long as that." 

Maedhros gave him a knowing grin. "You are young yet according to your kind," he said. "I believe I know what to do." He cast Fingon a glance over Húrin's shoulder, and before Húrin could think, he was lying flat on his back between them, Maedhros' mouth on his cock and Fingon kissing him. 

He could hardly keep himself from crying out into Fingon's mouth. Their hands appeared to be everywhere on him, and the sensation of two mouths on his body was all but overwhelming. Somehow, too, they seemed to be coordinated, and Fingon's tongue thrust into Húrin's mouth at the same rate Maedhros' mouth moved up and down over Húrin's cock. 

Under such a dual assault, he could not last long, and it was a matter of seconds before he was arching up and pulsing helplessly into Maedhros's mouth. Fingon was biting at his neck, the sweet pain only increasing the force of his orgasm. And yet there was still an undercurrent of arousal. Húrin knew it would not be long before he was hard and ready again. 

Maedhros' mouth left him, and Fingon was up and reaching for him almost before Húrin had opened his eyes. "Let me taste him on you!" he said eagerly, and kissed Maedhros hard. Their mouths were open as they came together, and Húrin could easily see Fingon licking some of his seed out of Maedhros' mouth into his own, moaning at the taste. The sight was obscenely delicious, and Húrin was already getting hard again just from watching them kiss like they wanted to devour each other. 

Fingon could not seem to restrain his hands from wandering, and Maedhros was in much the same state. Soon they were kneeling over Húrin, hands on each other's cocks, slowly stroking each other to full hardness. Húrin wanted to watch them touch each other like that only slightly less than he wanted to fuck and be fucked by them, but before long they separated, reluctantly letting go of each other. Fingon's hand drifted down a few inches to Húrin's cock, and with a deft twisting motion, had him fully hard in a moment. 

Maedhros moved to the other side of the bed and reached into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a small bottle of oil, which he handed to Fingon. "Have you done this before or had it done to you?" Fingon asked Húrin.

Húrin blushed. "Not with anyone save my wife. One may carve devices of wood for such a purpose, and at times she preferred to take me rather than have me take her. But I have never taken another in such a way."

Fingon smiled. "Then I will find it easy enough to open you up for me." He was slicking his fingers up with oil even as he spoke, and after a moment, poured some oil onto Maedhros' hand as well, then set the bottle aside. "Prepare yourself, lover," he said with a grin to Maedhros, "for the Edain are coming to breach your walls, and -" he cast a glance down at Húrin's erection, "- they are a mighty force indeed." 

"Now that's an invasion I cannot help but welcome," Maedhros said, hand busy between his legs. Húrin sat up and watched as Maedhros prepared himself, sliding slick fingers in and out of his arse, head tilted toward Húrin, eyes inviting. 

"Now," Fingon said, "kneel between his legs and I will prepare you for me." 

Húrin adjusted his position, From here, he had an even better view of the four fingers Maedhros had inside of himself, and desperately wanted to be inside the slick warmth of him. Fingon's hand on his lower back, encouraging him to bend forward, recalled him to himself. A hand parted his cheeks, and then warm wetness was lapping at his most intimate place. 

He could not help but groan, eyes closing of their own accord. Fingon's mouth was careful and slow, tongue pressing into him gently. After a moment he withdrew, replacing his mouth with oiled-up fingers that slid into Húrin easily. 

Beneath him Maedhros panted and withdrew his hand. He ran the remnants of the oil on his fingers down Húrin's cock. "I'm ready for you," he breathed, and gently pulled Húrin forward, Fingon's fingers sliding out. Húrin sank fully into him in one thrust, and the heat of him was overwhelming. "Stay still," Maedhros said, a look of very slight pain passing across his fair features, and Húrin obeyed, breathless. 

Fingon, behind him, pressed forward, the blunt head of his cock nudging at the entrance of his body, and Húrin dropped his head as Fingon entered him with a low groan of pleasure. The feeling of Fingon inside him - his king, taking him like this - was like a powerful jolt of bliss to all his limbs, and Húrin felt like he was trembling, consumed and consuming, as Fingon very slowly and carefully began to move. 

After a few thrusts Húrin caught the rhythm of it and began to move in time with him, in and out of Maedhros as Fingon moved in and out of him. Maedhros' hand went to his own cock, stroking himself in the same rhythm as well. Húrin wanted to do that for him, but it was all he could do to concentrate on thrusting deliberately and carefully, rather than breaking the rhythm and pounding wildly into Maedhros' warm willing flesh. Fingon's arm came around his waist, held him steady. 

The pleasure was like a mountain he was climbing, increasing slowly, inexorably. Every now and again there was a jolt of pleasure that reverberated all through them when Fingon brushed against something inside of Húrin, or Húrin did the same to Maedhros. Fingon, behind him, sucked a long bite of a kiss to the side of his throat, and after a little while, Húrin was able to bring his hand up to brush against Maedhros' nipple, making his eyes go heavy-lidded with pleasure. The stump of his right arm lay beside him on the bed, and after a while, when it seemed that they were getting closer to that inevitable peak, Fingon laid a hand over it, and an expression of overwhelming love flitted across Maedhros' face. 

Fingon began to move faster in infinitesimal degrees, and Húrin, abandoning all thought, moved with him. It was as though Fingon was fucking Maedhros through Húrin, and the thought of that was like a flash of heat through his body. They were beyond speech; Maedhros' lips were moving in some kind of chanted invocation but no sound emerging, Fingon was only panting, with now and then a gasp escaping when something felt especially good, Húrin, sweat-drenched, was unable to form complete words, and only broken sounds were leaving him. 

Maedhros was the first to come, hand flying over his cock, spurting onto his own stomach with a look of pure bliss on his face. For a moment he seemed to shine, hair and skin radiant, and it was this that made it impossible for Húrin to hold back any longer. Orgasm hit him like a blow, and he caught himself on his hands so as not to fall forward onto Maedhros, trembling and shaking, wrung out in the wake of it. Fingon was still inside him, his mouth at Húrin's ear, and the breathless gasp he gave when he came was one of the most pleasurable sounds Húrin had ever heard.

After a moment both Fingon and Maedhros guided Húrin down onto the bed. He was trembling and weak in the knees, still experiencing tiny aftershocks of bliss, and they exchanged satisfied smiles over him. 

"If you treat all your allies the same as this," Húrin said shakily, "you need have no fear for the outcome of any battle." 

Maedhros laughed. "Would that all our allies were so cooperative and loyal as you." He bent forward, nuzzling along Húrin's shoulder warmly. 

Fingon, behind Húrin, kissed the back of his neck, wrapping him in his arms. "My fine Húrin," he said, and then to Maedhros, "did I not say so, beloved?" 

Maedhros smiled, laying small kisses along Húrin's jawline, and reached out to Fingon, laying his hand on Fingon's shoulder. "Our first hope," he said softly. "Our first, and not our last. _Autuva lóme!_ " 

In that moment, wrapped in the arms of his king, and with Maedhros' bright smile on him, Húrin dared to hope. " _Aure entuluva!_ " he answered. "We shall make it happen."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Autuva lóme!_ = The night will pass!  
>  _Aure entuluva!_ = Day will come again!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hope Is a Four-Letter Word by amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520581) by [pumpkinpodfic (thegreatpumpkin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/pumpkinpodfic)




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